


Burnin' For You

by GoldBlooded



Series: Stucky Flavor of the Month [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bearded Steve Rogers, Blow Jobs, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Brief mention of violence against women, Bucky Barnes & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Chinese Food, Communication Failure, Cop!Bucky, Couple of nerds, D/s overtones, Detective Sergeant Bucky, Dirty Talk, Emotional Sex, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Fire Captain Steve Rogers, Fireman Steve Rogers, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, Late-night grocery shopping, M/M, Mutual Pining, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Police officer Bucky Barnes, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Rimming, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Science Fiction Nerd Bucky Barnes, Science Nerd Bucky Barnes, Self-indulgent fluff, Sex, Softball, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson Friendship, Steve Rogers has Allergies, Stucky - Freeform, Super brief mention of past FWB BuckyNat, Top Steve Rogers, firefighter!steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-22 18:45:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14314866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldBlooded/pseuds/GoldBlooded
Summary: Steve Rogers is Fire Captain of Brooklyn’s very busy Station 118.  He wants three things out of life: People he can count on, for everyone to get through their shifts safe and sound, and for Sergeant James Barnes to get the hell off of his arson scene.James Barnes is Detective Sergeant of Brooklyn’s very busy 107th Precinct.  He wants three things out of life:  A decent cup of coffee, good leads to chase, and for Captain Steven Rogers to get the hell off of his arson scene.Everyone knows to steer clear when these two have to deal with each other. Everyone knows about their mutual dislike and sometimes hatred. But what everyonedoesn'tknow? How they got to be like that in the first place.





	Burnin' For You

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this is a labor of love for me, and I'm so excited to share it with you guys! It's partially inspired by the _Brooklyn Nine-Nine_ episode 1x09, 'Sal's Pizza,' and partially inspired by [this](https://end-o-the-line.tumblr.com/post/162540017411/a-captain-america-the-first-avenger-timeline-for) amazing essay that mentions Bucky's potential pre-war occupation and the argument that he could have been a police officer. Also, there is a startling lack of Cop!Bucky fics out there, so I just had to fix that. 
> 
> Some logistic stuff about cops and firefighters are real, some I fucked with because it's my story and I do what I want. So, y'know, read with a grain of salt and all that. 
> 
> SWAT and Tactical Response Team (TRT) are the same thing here.
> 
> MANY, MANY THANKS TO:  
> -[LightningStriking](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LightningStriking), who is always so excited for my ideas and gives me the confidence to write them and then helps me untangle them when things go horribly awry.  
> -[LeisurelyPanda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeisurelyPanda), top notch cheerleader and motivator, without whom I would have melted into a puddle of goo the last couple of weeks.  
> -[Chicklette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chicklette/pseuds/chicklette), the World's Best BetaTM, who does not just beta'ing, but hand-holding, sense-talking, and gentle ass-kicking.

 

The scene was chaos. Wet charcoal and soot marred the streets and sidewalks; the corner pizzeria still belched smoke and snowed fat flakes of ash down on them. Bystanders craned for glimpses of the action, paramedics patched civilians and firefighters alike, and Sergeant Detective Barnes already had a headache.

“Look,” the deep, annoyed voice spoke to Barnes while he scrubbed a hand over his face. “We still got jurisdiction here. Let my guys get their jobs done and _then_ you can fuck off and do what you want with it.”

Barnes set his jaw and responded. “We walkin’ this road again, Rogers? Your marshal declared arson. We gotta investigate. You already put out the fire, time to let _my_ guys do their jobs.”

“Oh, is that what they’re here to do? Thought they were just here to hit on civilians.” Rogers gestured over to the police line where Jones was actively getting a phone number from a pretty blonde woman behind the yellow tape.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Barnes grumbled under his breath. He then hollered, “Jones, we _talked_ about this! Come on, man! _”_

Jones whipped around to look at him. “Sorry, Sarge! Won’t happen again!”

Jones looked not at all sorry and Barnes was 100% sure it _would_ happen again.

The sergeant turned around to face his current opponent: 240 pounds of pure scowling Fire Captain. He was still wearing the ridiculous yellow overalls, but had removed the coat. His large hands rested on his stupidly small waist… which grew into those stupid broad shoulders above and those stupid thick thighs below and it was all complimented by that stupid gorgeous face with those stupid blue eyes that sometimes Barnes was sure saw right into his very soul.

The smudged soot on his face and arms made Rogers look especially rugged and brought out the very bluest hues to his eyes. His sweat-soaked navy FDNY shirt clung to the miles of muscles he hadn’t had back in college, and Barnes had to make himself look at the captain’s face again. Rogers was still scowling, eyebrows raised in impatience for the sergeant to say something.

“Just. Hurry the fuck up, would ya?” Barnes responded, voice throatier than he’d have liked. “We got shit to do.”

Rogers let out an irritated huff. “You’re a piece of fuckin’ work, Barnes.” He then strode back to his crew, limping ever so slightly.

 _Takes one to know one,_ Barnes thought bitterly to himself before barking orders.

“Jones, Morita! Start interviewing witnesses. Make as much use of the time as you can before His Highness opens up the scene.”

\---

Rogers wasn’t the sort of leader to Captain from behind a desk. He’d rather Captain on the front lines, in the thick of the action, right beside his men. He wanted them to know that he understood the struggles, that he shared them, and that he truly had their backs. Sometimes, though, he regretted that decision.

Today was one of those days. He and Lieutenant Wilson had been the first responders to a scene involving domestic abuse, heavy drinking, and a car wreck... all at once. As trained paramedics they were dispensing medical assistance as needed.

Rogers was tending to the wife, who had shards of glass in her hair and embedded in the right side of her face. She had bruises old and new and a bloody nose that from the looks of it had stopped flowing long before the accident. She also had shading on her neck that indicated fresh bruises blossoming, in the shape of a meaty hand.

It was all Rogers could do to keep himself from attacking the husband and give him each of the wife’s injuries tenfold. Fucker deserved it. Barnes and his team were questioning the husband, and if it had been anyone else handling the situation - or even if Rogers had been just a little more sleep deprived - he would’ve started some shit, Captain or no.

The wife was trembling and silent, only answering questions by shaking her head or nodding. When it looked like she was going to start crying again, Rogers put on his best compassion face. He put a hand on her shoulder to steady her, and said in his most comforting voice, “Hey. It’ll be alright. You’re safe; you’re under our protection. We won’t let _anything_ happen to you. You’re safe. Okay?”

He gave her shoulder a light squeeze and she looked up at him meekly. It seemed as if for a moment she wouldn’t respond, but then she gave a tiny nod. Rogers smiled at her.

“Hey!” came a belligerent shout from several yards away. “Get your filthy hands off’a her! She’s _mine!_ You ain’t got no business touchin’ what’s mine!”

The husband had broken through the group of cops and was heading right to his battered wife and Rogers. The cops ran after the husband, but Barnes was in the lead by far, shouting at him. “Get back here! We weren’t done with you!”

Rogers stood up and immediately put himself as a barrier between the husband and the wife. He even took a few steps forward to distance them from her, because he knew where this was heading. He was sore and he was exhausted but right now more than anything he wanted to _fight._

The drunk husband took a swing at Rogers that was easily dodged, and the captain got in a good gut punch with one hand and the other landed a blow that would be a hell of a shiner. The husband was thickly built but Rogers towered over him; he grabbed the husband by the straps of his stained and tattered tank top, put his face close to the other man’s and then growled at him.

“You think you can go around hittin’ people without anyone hittin’ back, you sonuvabitch? You think it’s okay to _beat_ on people just cuz you don’t got any self control? You make me _sick._ ”

The husband glared up at him. “You don’t know shit! Hussy deserves it,” he spat at Rogers, and then took another swing. This one caught Rogers on the side of the face and he recoiled on instinct, though he’d had worse. He was about to retaliate with the full force of his anger when someone - Wilson, most likely - tugged on his elbow as Barnes finally came up behind the husband and wrestled him to the ground.

“Cap,” said Wilson’s voice from behind him, “You good?”

“Yeah.” Rogers touched the side of his face in petulance that he’d actually let the guy land a hit on him, glaring at the disgusting man on the ground the whole time.

“You sure? You don’t seem good.”

Rogers grunted noncommittally.

“Look, I know these types of calls are hard for you, and this one’s pretty fucked up, but hey. You need to go back to the station, cool off, get cleaned up? None of us are gonna fault you for that. You done enough here already.”

“Not leaving my guys, Wilson.”

A sigh, and then: “I know. Always worth a shot, though.”

Rogers felt a clap on his back and heard retreating footsteps, meaning Lieutenant Wilson was going back to whatever he was doing before the scuffle. Barnes, however, had a knee in the small of the husband’s back while cuffing him, half talking/half growling at the man all the while.

“You grody-ass motherfucker. I’da shot you if I didn’t hate the damn weapons discharge paperwork so much. You deserve what’s comin’ to ya, and I _promise_ you it’s a helluva lot worse than a fight with the good captain. Broke my fuckin’ heart to break that up; I’d pay good money to see the shit he’d do to you. Ain’t a soul here that wouldn’t.”

Barnes braced a hand on the back of the guy’s head and used it to leverage himself back to his feet, smooshing the bastard’s face into the asphalt in a very satisfying way. Once a few of Barnes’ beat cops had dragged the cuffed man away, the sergeant turned to Rogers and asked, “You okay?”

Rogers’ stomach fluttered at the thought that Barnes cared about his well-being, but he schooled his face into its usual scowl when talking to the policeman. “M’fine. Coulda handled that by myself.”

Barnes looked at him, nonplussed. “I know. Just easier with a little backup, is all.”

They stared at each other for a long moment. Like usual, Barnes was in plainclothes, though not the spiffy business casual normally favored by cops. He was wearing worn jeans that did frankly amazing things for his thighs and ass, one of his numerous henley shirts (this one a deep teal), a dark leather jacket, and his badge on a chain around his neck, sitting right at his sternum. He looked _delectable._

He also looked tired, Rogers noted. Barnes had deep circles and stress lines under his eyes, and his usually light scruff was quickly headed to beard territory. His hair wasn’t even tied back, and a few tendrils wafted about his face with the city wind. His ambiguous blue eyes became shiny with mirth, and his gorgeous mouth twisted into a smirk.

“Always a sucker for a brawl, ain’tcha?”

Rogers grunted and turned away, thinking he might - just this once - take Wilson up on his offer for an early return to the station.

\---

McNally’s was a little busier than normal that night; it must have been a productive day for the boys in blue. Barnes sat at the bar, nursing a tumbler of amber liquid. The ridiculously attractive redhead smirked at him from the next stool, where she sat backwards watching the door.

“Cheer up, Sarge, anyone would think you were upset we finally caught the Sunrise Slayer,” Romanoff said in that gravelly, melodic voice of hers.

“Yeah, well. Keep seein’ those girls tied up when I close my eyes, so.” He took a gulp of his liquid fire and motioned for another from the bartender.

“Hey,” Romanoff said quietly, putting a hand on Barnes’ forearm. “It’s okay. Doesn’t make you less of a man, doesn’t make you less of a cop to care about them. Makes you a better one of both, and a better human, too.”

Barnes looked at her for the first time since they’d walked in the door. He searched her face for any sign that she was placating him or making light of the situation. Her face said that as a detective permanently assigned to homicide, she was _not._

“How do you do it?” he wondered out loud.

Romanoff shrugged one shoulder. Her face was set in her usual mask, but her eyes got haunted for a brief second before returning to their default observational mode. She thought for a moment before responding.

“I got a fella that makes me laugh,” she said slowly, as if she herself was only just realizing how the hell she got through day after day of mangled corpses.

“You can laugh? I’ve sure as shit never seen you.” Barnes tried to tease, nudging Romanoff with his elbow.

“That’s cuz you’re not my fella,” she retorted, before training her eyes back on the door.

Whomever she was waiting for must have been who was walking into the bar that time, because despite her face remaining neutral, her eyes started sparkling. Barnes looked over his shoulder to see two burly blond men walk through the door: one average, one tall, both in the distinct navy uniforms that heralded them as firefighters, not cops.

“Hey, baby!” the average-height man crowed in their direction with a grin on his face. Behind him, the taller man was looking around the bar before settling his gaze on Barnes and they locked eyes.

“ _Fuck,”_ Barnes cursed. He turned back to the bar, and downed his second drink. He was gesturing for a third when the men approached them. The average man threw his arm around Romanoff’s shoulders and Romanoff actually _smiled_ back at him.

“Barnes,” she said, eyes still on the man wrapped around her, “This is Barton, the aforementioned fella.”

“Hey man,” Barton said, leaving one arm around Romanoff and offering a hand to shake. Barnes took it and nodded in greeting. Barton pointed at Rogers and then bragged to Romanoff, “This poor sucker’s buying my drinks for the evening.”

“Oh?” she asked, poking him in the ribs. “How’d you manage that?”

Barton grinned wider. “He bet against me at darts.”

Romanoff looked to the captain. “Rogers… why would you do that?”

She sounded genuinely confused, and Rogers protested with a look of good-natured chagrin.

“Look, when someone tells you they’re good at darts, you think they’re just talkin’ shit. I didn’t know he was _that_ fuckin’ good, alright? Or I’d have kept my mouth shut and my head down.”

The absurdity of that statement coming out of Rogers’ mouth made Barnes snort involuntarily.

“Oh, right,” said Romanoff, “Barnes, this is Capt-”

“I know who he is.”

There was a moment of awkward silence. The bartender mercifully took this time to refill Barnes’ glass and ask the newcomers _What’ll it be, gents?_ and both ordered the house beer on tap.

“Scotch?” Rogers asked Barnes as the bartender busied himself with pulling their pints. “I remember you being more of a rum and coke guy.”

“Yeah, fifteen years ago. Everyone has questionable taste in college.” Barnes looked at Rogers pointedly. Rogers’ expression hardened a smidge.

“Yeah, I guess they do.”

“Leave the sergeant alone,” Romanoff defended, still making eyes at Barton. “He always has a whiskey neat after a grizzly murder. Or in this case, eight.”

“What?” said Rogers.

“That’s right! My baby caught the Sunrise Slayer cuz she’s a straight-up beast,” Barton said proudly.

Barnes got a mental flash of three young girls tied up and naked. He downed half of his whiskey.

“Well, I had a _little_ help,” said Romanoff.

“Ohhh, is _this_ the peanut butter to your jelly?” asked Barton. “Wow, I see what you mean. Cap, you’re lookin’ at the best good-cop, bad-cop routine in all of Brooklyn.”

“What was that?” asked Romanoff sweetly.

“I said all of New York, baby, you heard me.”

“I thought that’s what you said.”

Barton leaned down and kissed her.

“I’ve seen you be pretty persuasive,” Rogers said. “I’m sure you make one hell of a good cop.”

At that, Barton laughed heartily, Romanoff smirked, and Barnes shook his head.

“Nah man, she’s the _bad_ cop. She’s the  _best_ bad cop,” Barton bragged.

“Really? So Barnes is the good cop in this scenario?” Rogers looked skeptical.

Romanoff said, “Don’t let his post-serial killer facade fool you, Captain. When he wants to, he can charm the pants off of anyone.” 

“Anyone?” asked Barton. “Even you?”

Romanoff smirked at her fella. “Maybe. Once upon a time.”

At that, Barton clapped Barnes on the back with enthusiasm. “No take-backsies, she’s mine now. Cool?”

Barnes answered by throwing back the rest of his whiskey.

“Just for that,” said Romanoff, “I’m gonna kick your ass in darts.”

“Baby, you know you can’t do that.”

“Barton, I may be the only one in the world who _can._ ”

“You may be right. To the dart board!”

The couple made a beeline to the opposite side of the bar where the boards were hanging, leaving Rogers and Barnes sitting next to each other in silence. Each one held their drinks, awkwardly ignoring the other.

Eventually Rogers cleared his throat. “So. You and Barton’s girl, huh?”

Barnes glared at him. “Not that it’s any of your business, but it was a long time ago. We had the same beat for a while, and we trained together for SWAT. We decided to blow off some steam. Never turned into nothin’.”

Rogers nodded and took a long swig of beer. Barnes considered ordering another drink, but decided all he really wanted to do was go home and order Peking Bistro and pass out on the couch watching cheesy sci-fi shows surrounded by crab rangoons.

“D’you…” Rogers started as Barnes made to get up. “D’you remember, back when we were rookies, how we’d go down to the dollar showings at the Tivoli when we could find the time?”

Did Barnes remember?

Did Barnes remember when Rogers was Stevie and just a beanpole with bright smile and a laugh like sunshine? Did he remember pining over Stevie’s blue eyes across the library table during college while the blond studied for a fire science exam, and Barnes was still Bucky and trying to cram for his own sociology test? Did he remember being best friends with his roommate? Did he remember being _in love_ with his roommate?

Did he remember how it all came crashing down during the halcyon days of rookie dollar Tivoli showings?

Yeah, he did.

Barnes was three scotches deep with a stomach lacking shitty Chinese food to absorb any effect. Or any food that day, actually. He was shaken and probably a little bit scarred from the Sunrise Slayer’s final crime scene if he was honest with himself. He was exhausted and sore and _so_ not in the mood for this shit.

“Why’d you come here tonight? The fuck are you doin’ in a cop bar, anyhow? Barton’s got an in but you come in here, walkin’ around like you own the place with that stupid face ‘a yours, just _waitin’_ to get punched. If I wanted to walk down memory lane, you’d be the _last_ person I’d do it with. You made sure‘a that a long time ago.”

Barnes flung himself off of the barstool and started pulling his leather coat on. Rogers’ face had turned angry and indignant.

 _"_ _I_ made sure of that? Don’t blame me for what happened. That’s on _you_ and you know it!”

“You’re so full’a shit, Rogers, I’m surprised it doesn’t spill outta ya. That’s the most outrageous thing I’ve heard all day and I caught a fuckin’ _serial killer_ earlier.”

At that, Rogers stood up and stepped into Barnes’ space. “You wanna settle this outside?”

Barnes pulled out his wallet and flopped a few bills onto the bar. “Nope. Not gonna scrap with you, you fuckin’ meathead. I got better things to do. Also, I think you forgot you’re still in a cop bar. Not that thirty against one would ever stop you from tryin’, but that’s probably how you ended up a meathead anyhow.”

“Fuck you, Barnes!” Rogers snarled.

“Get bent, Captain Crunch.” Barnes walked towards the bar door and flipped the bird over his shoulder to Rogers before taking out his phone and pulling up Peking Bistro from his favorites list.

\---

“Barnes!” hollered a very sharp, very distinct voice.

“Yeah!” Barnes answered, still staring at the report he was working on before looking up at the Police Captain glaring at him. Fury’s gaze was intense and his head cocked _just so_ , and Barnes knew that meant he’d better get his ass up and into Fury’s office in the next thirty seconds or the whole 107th precinct would suffer.

After Barnes sat himself into the old chair in front of the captain’s desk, Fury shut the door and sat in his own high-backed chair with a sigh.

“Sergeant… Major Crimes is taking the Red Skull case.”

“ _What?!_ ” Barnes exploded. “Sir, I’ve been working that case for _months,_ the pieces are just starting to come together! I need another 48, 72 hours at most. I can _get_ these guys, sir, I just need a _little_ more time.”

Fury was shaking his head, but his face was not without compassion. “I’m sorry, Barnes. It’s gotten bigger than your team. You just kept uncovering leads, kept uncovering conspiracies, kept uncovering trails. You found a whole damn organized crime ring nobody even knew existed.”

“So I’m being punished because I did my job well?”

“Sure feels that way, doesn’t it?” Fury said, sharing in his frustration. “Look, if it was up to me, you’d be head of a high-priority task force to take these motherfuckers down. You’d get all the glory because this is _your_ case and it’s _your_ bust and it’s _your_ work. Unfortunately the vultures up in Major Crimes disagree, and so does the brass.”

Barnes had to clench his hands into fists so Fury wouldn’t see them shake. “Can I… can I at least consult? I’ve got sources that’ll only talk to me, I’ve got… sir, it’s… _months…”_

Fury nodded in sympathy. “I know, trust me. But they said your reports were thorough enough they can get by without a consultant. Shit, they’ll probably get their own sources, who knows. But I’ve got a feeling they know you’ll be up their asses if they let you stay on the case, so they’re shutting you out.”

Barnes could only sit there and quietly rage.

“Sergeant, do you keep up with your SWAT qualifications?”

“What? Yeah. ...I mean, yes, sir.”

Fury stared at Barnes in that shrewd way of his for several long moments. “Word has it the Tactical Response Team is down a couple guys for a week or two. Something about mono goin’ around. I told Hill you’d be willing to fill in.”

“What?” Now Barnes was outraged _and_ confused.

“I have it on pretty good authority that Major Crimes is going to be moving on a new organized crime ring in the next 48, 72 hours at most. Should be a damn fine bust. Fellas over at TRT get to have all the fun sometimes, don’t they?”

Barnes just gawked at Fury for a few moments before breaking into a grin. “You know, sir, I _have_ been longing for the good ol’ days lately.”

Fury let out a pleased huff. “I noticed you had that look of nostalgia about you. Can’t have you pining away on me.”

It wasn’t perfect, but Fury had at least figured out a way for him to be part of the action, that magnificent son of a bitch.

\---

Rogers was getting itchy, but whether that was from the crews of three separate firehouses packed into their single station, from the magnitude of what was about to go down, or that he hadn’t eaten all day, he really couldn’t say. Probably all three.

Chief Battalion Phillips was briefing the room in that strangely quick southern drawl of his.

“There will be units from Major Crimes, Vice, Tactical Response, Bomb Disposal, Hostage Negotiation, and that’s just from the NYPD. Not to mention the assorted agencies that have been invited to this party but so far only ATF have RSVP’d yes.”

Rogers’ stomach growled and Lieutenant Wilson nudged him with his elbow and gave him a sideways look that said _really?_ Rogers shrugged a shoulder in response and returned his attention to Chief Phillips.

“The bust is scheduled for 23:00. There are to be _no leaks_ of this operation which is why we have confiscated your phones and computers for the time being. It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s that I don’t trust _anyone_. And if I happen to find out there IS a leak and it came from one of New York’s Bravest?”

Phillips took the time to scowl at each and every person in the room before continuing.

“I will personally escort that son of a bitch to the gates of hell. That is, what’s left of them after the rest of these crews get finished. Suit up and be ready to move out at 22:30. Dismissed.”

Rogers decided to make himself a sandwich before destroying Wilson, Barton, and Odinson at a game of _Settlers of Catan_ while waiting to gear up.

-

Three hours later, Rogers and his crew were in their engine half a block away from the bust, waiting with baited breath. Apparently this new crime ring had a penchant for explosives, but hopefully the bomb disposal units could take care of everything before the FDNY had to get to work. Still, they were far enough back to not draw attention to themselves with the engine following dark protocol, but close enough they could see the myriad of crews arriving quickly and quietly to the dilapidated factory.

The clock ticked over to 23:00, and the Tactical Response Team tossed some flash bombs into the building before heading in themselves. All in all, it seemed to go pretty smoothly. Some shouts, some gunfire, another volley of TRT and other crews, and then a long line of cuffed men were frogmarched out of the building.

A couple of TRT guys were carrying a third out of the factory and Rogers nodded at Wilson, who followed him from the engine, carrying their med kits. The ambulances were a few minutes away and Rogers’ team could do more good with triage than sitting on their asses, so they waved the TRT guys over.

“God damn, Dugan,” a familiar voice said from behind a helmet. “You gotta watch that figure of yours or you won’t fit into your tac gear one’a these days.” The TRT guy on the left dumped the limping man in the middle onto the metal ledge of the engine and pulled off his helmet.

Barnes took a breath of fresh air and smoothed his hair back from his face. “Rogers,” he nodded at the Captain. “You gonna patch my buddy up or what?”

Rogers looked back to where Wilson was already addressing Dugan’s wounds, with the help of the third guy. “He’s in good hands. You back on SWAT?” he asked, gesturing to Bucky’s tac gear.

“Nah, just filling in. Wouldn’t miss this for the world!” Barnes exclaimed, and then honest-to-god _grinned_. The expression hit Rogers like a gut punch, the sparkle in those dark blue eyes leaving him cold and hot all at once. He remembered the days back when those smiles were easy to come by, and Rogers missed being able to cause them. But as quickly as it had appeared, the smile dropped from the sergeant’s face and a frown appeared in its wake. “Is that… the Deputy Commissioner?”

Rogers turned to follow Barnes’ line of sight to see a man in dress blues that indeed looked to be the Deputy Commissioner shaking hands with someone in an NYPD windbreaker, saying something that sounded very much like _Congratulations, Lieutenant, great job. This case was five inches thick with leaks everywhere and could have turned sour at any time, but you really pulled it off…_

Barnes’ jaw clenched and his eyes turned to hard rage. “Three days. They expect Major Crimes to have created a case file like that in _three days?_ ” he seethed.

Rogers just stared at Barnes, until something clicked. “Wait. This was your case wasn’t it?”

Barnes glanced at him and jerked his head in affirmation before returning his glare to the Deputy Commissioner.

Indignation flared in Rogers’ chest. “You did all the work, didn’t you? Case file that thick would’ve taken months, right? You did all that and Major Crimes has had it, what, three days like you said? And now those...those….” Rogers struggled to find the words.

“Cretinous asshat vultures?” Barnes supplied with a growl.

Rogers nodded. “They’re taking all the credit! You should say something.”

Barnes looked like a man resigned to his fate. Resigned, but still pissed to high heaven about it. “Not my place,” he gritted out.

The bomb disposal unit decided to emerge from the factory then, issuing the all-clear. Barnes’ brow furrowed. “That’s awful fast for Dernier to clear a building this size.”

Rogers shrugged. “Wasn’t there intel about what kinda show they’re runnin’ here?”

“Yeah, I got that fuckin’ intel. It shouldn’t have been that easy. It doesn’t… it doesn’t feel right.” Barnes got a faraway, confused look in his eyes. “Somethin’s off. Somethin’ ain’t right about this…”

The sergeant pulled his tac helmet back over his head and flipped the visor up before walking towards the factory. Halfway there he paused to rub his forehead before his face snapped to attention. He shouted something, flipped his visor down, and bolted towards the building. Barnes reached the threshold and then--

The factory exploded, and Rogers’ heart stopped.

\---

There was only one apartment left to evacuate in the residential building: C7. All the others had been cleared, and his guys were trying to figure out the source of the reported smoke smell, so Rogers was finishing up the evacuation.

Except that C7 apparently wasn’t home or didn’t want to open the door. He pounded a third time, and finally got a response.

“ _Give me a fuckin’ minute, Jesus Christ!_ ” someone hollered through the door.

“Fire Department! Sir, for your safety, please open up! _”_ he responded. There was a few seconds of silence, and then the door was flung open, and he was face to face with-

Barnes. Of fucking course.

“Huh,” the sergeant said, apparently surprised by the reveal as well. He stared at the lower half of the fireman’s face for a moment, then glanced back up. “This had better be good, Rogers. You know I hate getting woke up for nothing.”

Rogers blinked. Barnes was here, in the flesh. He hadn’t seen him since the explosion three weeks ago; wasn’t able to get updates on his condition because there was no personal relationship to speak of. The last he knew, Barnes was ‘in the hospital being treated for injuries sustained in the line of duty’, and he’d read that in the newspaper.

Barnes was barefoot, wearing sweats and a tank top, and there was shiny, pink skin all along his left arm. Rogers had definitely seen worse, and he was glad it was a mild injury all things considered. Barnes also had bedhead and sheet creases on his cheek. He was still trying to blink the sleep out of his eyes as he looked at Rogers and it was frankly adorable, and Rogers had not come here prepared for that.

“Barnes. I haven’t seen you since, uh… How are you?”

“Well, apparently my building is on fire or something? I dunno, you tell me.”

“Oh, right.” Rogers pulled himself together, his professional mask settling onto his face. “Coupla residents smelled smoke, called it in. We’re still trying to figure out the source, so we’re evacuating the building as a precaution.”

Barnes groaned in irritation. “You know it’s probably someone burnin’ lunch. Do I really gotta go down to the street, or can I just sit it out on the fire escape?”

“I’d recommend the street. Why risk it, when you’re still healing?” Rogers asked, eying the shiny, still-angry skin of Barnes’ arm.

“Ugh, fine. Do you know how long it’ll be?”

“Hard to say, building this size. Could be a few minutes, could be over an hour.”

“Christ. Okay.” Barnes went to the coffee table and picked up a compression sleeve and slid it over his left wrist. He hesitated for a minute, and then said, “Actually, um. Could you give me a hand? I can do it on my own, but it takes a while, and…”

 _And hurts like hell,_ Steve’s mind filled in. “Of course,” he answered, and stepped into the apartment, sparing a few glances for the living space.

It was a mix between new and old. Some things, like the tv and the sofa, appeared to be brand new. Others, like the coffee table and armchair and curtains, had seen better days. That was so like Barnes, to be utilitarian but also sentimental about things. It caused a pang deep in Rogers’ chest.

Barnes held out his arm and Rogers slipped off his work gloves and shoved them into his pockets. He hadn’t touched Barnes in, what, fourteen, fifteen years? And suddenly he was nervous. Why was he nervous? Everything was fine. Totally fine.

Like hell it was.

As soon as Rogers gingerly gripped the top of the sleeve and pulled as gently as he could, Barnes’ entire body stiffened. His eyes closed, his jaw clenched and he took a long, steady inhale through his nose. That was the face of a man in pain who would never in a hundred years admit it.

Rogers slid the compression sleeve up and over the raw, tender flesh. He examined the burns closely as he went and noted that most of them were second-degree, with some third-degree areas that were thankfully not bad enough to need grafting. He pulled the sleeve up as carefully as he could until his fingers brushed the smooth, healthy skin of Barnes’ upper bicep.  Rogers definitely didn’t linger his touch, no matter how much he inexplicably wanted to. Barnes was looking a little pale from the efforts.

“You okay?” Rogers asked.

Barnes nodded, jaw still clenched, and seemed to force himself to relax before opening his eyes. “Yeah, I’m good. Thanks.”

Barnes then shoved his feet into some sneakers, pulled a hoodie on, and grabbed his keys, phone, wallet, and a paperback from the coffee table before following Rogers out of the apartment.

Once on the street, Wilson cast a surprised look to the pair of them.

“Hey, Sergeant,” Wilson greeted amiably.

“Lieutenant,” Barnes nodded at Wilson, and brushed past. Rogers expected Barnes to park himself somewhere nearby, but instead the other man kept walking.

“Where ya going?” Rogers called after him.

Barnes turned around to answer, walking backwards. “Diner on the corner. Why rubberneck when you can eat?”

And, well, Rogers couldn’t really argue with that.

Wilson gave the captain one of his patented _really?_ expressions and Rogers just shrugged at him. He told himself that it was just another day, just another call. He pretended that he hadn’t just discovered where his once-best-friend-now-sort-of-frenemy lived, and that it happened to be only three blocks from his own residence. (And that _that_ didn’t matter at all.) He pretended that he didn’t learn that Barnes was probably still on medical leave, and that he looked waaay too good in tank tops to be allowed, and how much he looked like a human teddy bear when he’d just woken up from a nap.

Nope. Rogers hadn’t discovered any of those things at all.

-

Barnes had finished his patty melt and was dipping the remains of his fries into the dregs of his strawberry shake. He turned the page in _The Necronomicon_ , and dipped another fry and popped it into his mouth. He would forever enjoy the hot/cold, sweet/salty combination.

“I never really understood the phrase ‘the more things change, the more they stay the same’ until just now,” a deep, familiar voice said above him.

Barnes glanced up from his book and saw Rogers standing by his booth, stripped down into that sinful FDNY t-shirt and yellow fire pants combo that had no business being as attractive as it was. Rogers had also grown a beard in the weeks since they’d last seen each other, and it was _doing things_ to Barnes that he never asked for. He shoved his bookmark into the pages of the paperback, and set it aside.

“Oh, and why’s that?”

Rogers huffed a laugh, and motioned to the opposite side of the booth, asking for permission to sit. Barnes nodded his head in affirmation, and Rogers replied as he slid onto the bench seat.

“You could be a billionaire on the moon, or five hundred years old, or a vampire or somethin’, and you’d still dip your fries in your shake.”

Barnes, to his own surprise, chuckled at that. “You’re probably right. But you could be those things also, and still ask for two cherries in yours.”

Rogers scratched at the honey-colored beard on his jaw and grinned. “It’s just more satisfying to have a cherry before and a cherry after. I don’t know why more people don’t get it.”

“I know, I know,” Barnes agreed. “My second one’s at the bottom.”

“What?”

“My second cherry? Is at the bottom of my shake...?”

Rogers looked like he’d seen a ghost, and cleared his throat. “You never used to get two cherries.”

Barnes looked down into his glass, suddenly unsure of himself. “Yeah, well, a while ago some punk showed me the light on shake-cherry ratios and I haven’t looked back.” He glanced up at Rogers, who was now looking at him with something like… astonishment? Fondness?

Or maybe the guy just had indigestion.

The waitress came over then to take Rogers’ order, and rather than leave him to eat alone, Barnes had the strange urge to order pie. So he did.

What a weird fuckin’ day.

\---

The spring had started off warmer than usual, and the baseball fields at the Red Hook Recreation Complex looked like something out of a tour guide that afternoon.

It was the day of the annual softball game between the 107th Precinct and Fire Station 118. It had been happening for thirty-something years, to encourage camaraderie and cooperation between the departments that shared jurisdiction and territory. Barnes had always thought it an especially ridiculous tradition, albeit mildly enjoyable.

(Although, as he watched Rogers stretch, and saw those bulky muscles straining his too-tight FDNY team t-shirt obscenely, Barnes could concede that the game had its benefits.)

Barnes himself was rolling his shoulders and stretching his arms. He’d been the precinct’s pitcher the last three years, since he was the only one on the team with halfway decent aim besides Romanoff, and she was a better closer than starter. He was really glad that he was an ambidextrous pitcher, too; he preferred to pitch left-handed but the new skin on his arm was still uncomfortably tight and tender when subjected to strain. He stretched it as gently as he could and he pulled the compression sleeve up; it was a much easier task now than it had been a month ago when Rogers had helped him.

Jones was passing out the team shirts and Barnes stripped to his tank top. Jones handed him a deep blue shirt with the police department’s logo on the chest and a name that started with B on the back and a number that wasn’t his.

“Hey, Banner!” he called over to the medical examiner. “Trade you!”

Banner looked up from a statistics book and looked between the shirt sitting next to him on the bench and the one Barnes was holding up and smiled. “Sure you don’t wanna keep it? We could use it to distract the opposition,” he said as he tossed the sergeant’s shirt over anyway.

“Nah, we can just load the bases and then threaten to light off a coupla firecrackers, and score a grand slam while getting lectured on the basics of fire safety.”

Banner, Romanoff, and a few others nearby laughed. Barnes pulled on the correct shirt and glanced back over at Rogers. He was closer now, hanging around the catcher’s area with Battalion Chief Phillips. The deep red of the fire department’s shirt was doing amazing things for Rogers’ blue eyes, and Barnes couldn’t help the little lurch of desire when he saw ‘Team Captain’ lettered near the hem of his left sleeve. Barnes looked down at his own left sleeve to see matching lettering. Huh. That was new. Usually Dugan was team captain, but he was on vacation in Hawaii.

People milled about for a bit, getting ready for the first pitch. Barnes took some preemptive painkillers for his arm, and made plans with Romanoff, Barton, Jones, and a few others to head to McNally’s after the game. After a few minutes, Fury and Phillips took to home base to wax poetic about the benefits of team building and yadda yadda. Eventually as team captains, he and Rogers had to do the coin toss; Barnes’ call of heads lost, and he prepared to take the pitcher’s mound. 

He struck out the first two batters and then caught a hit off of the third, and took immense pleasure in the scowls on the firemen’s faces as the first inning bottomed and the cops switched from fielding to batting.

Barnes himself was fourth in line to bat, behind Morita, Dernier, and Romanoff. Barton had struck out the first two with clean pitches, and only Romanoff and Barnes had managed to get hits and onto bases. Somehow, Romanoff was able to steal third while Jones was batting. She was so small and stealthy, they never saw her coming.

While Jones was running to first on a hit that was actually foul, Romanoff seized the temporary chaos and scored before Jones went back to home base to attempt another bat. Barnes followed Romanoff’s lead and stole third, grinning as Rogers looked over in shock as Barnes stepped onto his base.

“Stealing is a criminal act. Are you gonna arrest yourself, or do I gotta call one of your buddies over?” Rogers asked.

“Ain’t a one of them would arrest me, they got my back,” Barnes said with a cocky smile, while stretching his left shoulder a little bit and watching Jones’ batting stance.

Rogers shook his head in mock disappointment. “Who’da thought that the 107th precinct was so rife with corruption,” he said, and then sneezed three times in a row.

“You okay?” Barnes asked, and noticed that the wind had picked up and remembered how high the pollen count was that day. Rogers may have grown to look like a god, but he still had very human seasonal allergies. The guy was allergic to everything that grew natively in New York State, and then some.

“Yup,” Rogers sniffed. “Meds are just wearin’ off.”

“Well I got some in my bag-” Barnes started to offer, but Jones had just hit deep into the outfield and Barnes was off like lightning to score on the hit.

-

The game was tied 4-4 during the fifth inning stretch. Barnes wasn’t pitching as sharply as he normally would, what with his better arm being out of commission and all. But he was finished at the mound, since Romanoff was coming in for the sixth and seventh innings to close the game.

Barnes was chugging on a Gatorade when Rogers came up to him. He was rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, and sniffed a few times. Poor guy looked _miserable._

“Rogers,” Barnes greeted.

“Hey, so I hate to ask, but you mentioned something about maybe having some allergy meds? I forgot to bring any, and I was hoping…”

“Oh, for sure man. I got tablets and eyedrops. You need both? You look like you need both.”

“That bad, huh?” Rogers chuckled as he followed Barnes over to the precinct’s dugout. The red shirt in the sea of blue stuck out sorely, but it made Barnes’ eyes go right for Rogers even more than normal.

“You look like you lost a fight with a truckload of habaňeros,” Barnes said as he dug through his bag. He noted Roger’s red nose and watery eyes, and tossed him the bottles.

Rogers huffed a laugh. “That’s what I like about you, Barnes, you don’t pull your punches.”

“If I’d done that, I never woulda been welterweight champ at the Y, now would I?”

Rogers popped a couple tablets and washed them down with Barnes’ own Gatorade, which he then handed back. When had Barnes even given it to him…? This thought was cut off when Rogers tilted his head back for the eyedrops and his obscenely tight shirt rode up, exposing a few inches of pale skin, a honey-colored happy trail, and part of a set of abs that Barnes suddenly wanted to sink his teeth into.

Uh oh.

Barnes rifled around in his bag and pulled out a ballcap and shoved it onto his head, hoping the shadow from the brim would disguise the blush he was sure was coloring his cheeks. He downed the last of his Gatorade and studiously avoided looking at Roger’s abdomen, or the way his ridiculous biceps bulged when he held his arms up like that.

After Rogers had tossed the bottle back to him with a _thanks, man_  and left to rejoin his teammates, Jones came up and clapped Barnes on the shoulder.

“What’s up with you, Sarge? You hate that guy.”

Barnes considered himself before answering. “Nah,” he threw an arm around Jones’ shoulders and started walking them back to the diamond. “Rogers and I go way back. Never hated him. Just didn’t like him for a while, is all.”

“Huh. But you guys are good now?”

Another pause. “Yeah. Yeah, I think we might be.”

-

The precinct lost 7-5, because apparently once Rogers could go more than thirty seconds without sneezing and his eyes stopped watering from all the pollen, he turned into a beast. Barnes knew this, but had forgotten just how much athletic prowess Rogers had developed in the years since his clumsy, beanpole college days.

Despite Romanoff’s brutal pitching, Rogers was a power hitter and as soon as the meds kicked in and he could actually see the ball, the precinct was doomed. Seeing Rogers go from miserably suffering his overwhelming allergies to putting every other player on the field to shame with his alarming speed and accuracy made Barnes feel strangely proud and also something akin to butterflies in the pit of his stomach.

In the warm Brooklyn afternoon breeze, with the distinct metallic _tink_ of softballs hitting metal bats, and the cheering of his friends and coworkers running a constant soundtrack, Barnes couldn’t help but relax. For the first time in weeks - months, maybe - he felt like perhaps he was actually enjoying himself.

And if he was being honest with himself, watching Rogers grin with victory, Barnes couldn’t even be upset that he’d handed the win to the fire department. In fact, as he saw Rogers blush and humbly mutter things about ‘team effort’ as he was getting thanked and praised, Barnes rather felt like _he_ was the one with the victory.

And wasn’t that just somethin’?

\---

The FDNY trains hard and rough, with no cushy platitudes of ‘if you’re fast enough, if you make the right call, if you’re heroic enough, you’ll save everyone’. Nope. They tell you, point blank, from _before_ Day One, that you cannot save everybody. There will be circumstances beyond your control. The smoke alarm might have a dead battery. The fire may cause the building to be structurally unsound. A kid may have severe asthma. There may be hotspots and backdrafts in the worst possible places. Maybe your oxygen tank will have a leak.

Maybe you have a good day and none of those things happen.

Or maybe you have a bad one and all of them do.

Rogers knows this. He knows it deep, down in his bones that as much as he wants to, he can’t save everyone. He’s got a great track record; the best in the station, though it’s earned him reprimands for being reckless. He’d never ask his men to take the risks that he does, which is why he’s such a good leader. He’s got a great track record...but the ones he can’t save hurt like fuck.

It had been a _long_ couple of night tours, and Rogers had started his 72-hour leave before rotating back to day shift. Even though he was exhausted, he couldn’t stand the thought of going to bed, so he went to the gym and pounded on a sandbag until he felt the ache in his knuckles through the wraps. He showered, tidied his apartment, and ordered his favorite Indian takeout, extra spicy. (The food tasted like ash in his mouth.) He’d spent the day extra busy, and hoped it would be enough come nightfall.

It wasn’t.

Rogers had now been trying to sleep for hours, laying in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the scene over and over in his mind. If only he’d made a different call, if only he’d checked his tank… He wanted to text Wilson but knew that the lieutenant deserved a quiet few days with Riley without thinking about the shit show they’d just come off of.

The clock shone with a bright blue ‘01:34’ and Rogers decided that if he couldn’t sleep he might as well go downstairs to the bodega and get a few groceries. He dragged his overtired body from the bed and shoved on some Nikes and a hoodie and made a mental list in his mind as he trudged down the creaky stairs.

The bodega was mostly empty, and Rogers ignored everyone as he filled his basked with a half-dozen eggs, a half-gallon of milk, some apples, a package of smoked ham, and couple of rolls of toilet paper. He was now down the cereal aisle, trying to decide between cinnamon Life and Wheaties. Somehow, staring at the boxes, he found himself replaying the scene over in his mind again.

Someone else came down the aisle and shook Rogers out of his mind. As he cleared his head, he saw a lone box of Oreo O’s on the shelf, and thought, _what the hell._ As he reached for the box, the other person did as well, and suddenly it was the only cereal that Rogers had ever wanted in his life.

“Look, pal,” a rough voice started, and Rogers turned to tell whoever it was to _fuck off_ when the voice chuckled and said, “Of course. Evenin’, Rogers.”

“Barnes?”

Barnes was also schlepping around in sweats, his hair pulled up into a bun, and dark circles and exhaustion lines around his eyes. Rogers must have been staring, because Barnes waved a hand in front of his face.

“You okay, man?”

“Yeah,” Rogers swallowed, and cast his eyes downward. He didn’t want Barnes to see his shame, didn’t want to see how he’d failed. “Started leave, so I’m just getting some things.”

Barnes examined his basket and asked, “That gonna get you through a coupla days?”

Rogers huffed a weak laugh. “No. But it’ll get me through breakfast.”

“Well, you’re all set then! I’ve had nothing but shitty stakeout snacks for the last week, and you’ve got all the fixin’s for a hearty morning meal there. No harm in me taking the cereal, is there?”

In theory, that was a perfectly valid argument.

“But...I want it.” Rogers countered.

“That makes two of us.”

They stared at each other for a moment; two rough, tired men in a fluorescent bodega, each still holding a side of the only box of Oreo O’s left.

“We could...share?” Rogers tried.

“Share.” Barnes looked confused.

“Yeah. We could split the cereal. I only live upstairs, we could...I dunno, go watch something and have a couple bowls, I guess. I mean…only if you want to.”

Barnes stared at him for a moment before shrugging. “Yeah, okay.”

They checked out, went upstairs, and poured themselves two big bowls of cereal. Once they’d settled on the sofa, Rogers asked, “You still like the SyFy channel?”

Barnes grinned. “Always.” Rogers turned the tv on, where it was already tuned to SyFy and an old episode of _Warehouse 13_ was playing. “Ah, this is a good one,” Barnes said before shoving a heaping spoonful of Oreo O’s into his mouth.

There, in the dark of his apartment lit only by a table lamp and the light of the tv, Rogers’ shoulders started to relax. He spooned his own cereal into his mouth, where a wave of nostalgia and the accompanying happiness washed over him. The tension eased out of his back and his body loosened. Barnes chuckled from a quippy one-liner from Rogers’ favorite character, and  just like that, he felt like he could breathe again.

Watching science fiction with Barnes while the world was quiet, eating Oreo O’s, not thinking about anything? Hell, that was second nature to Rogers. He could do this all night.

-

“What the hell is _Wynonna Earp_?” Rogers asked Barnes.

“It’s a show about Wyatt Earp’s descendants and a curse and his gun and all kinds’a stuff. It’s no _Eureka_ , but it’s pretty cool.”

“Sounds cheesy.”

“Listen, if you don’t like cheesy, low-budget sci-fi shows that are both terrible and the best thing you’ve ever seen, why do you even watch this channel?”

 _Because it reminds me of you,_ Rogers didn’t say. He shrugged instead. “Let’s give it a shot.”

Barnes grinned at him. “You won’t regret it. Probably.”

Rogers just hefted a showy sigh and poured himself another bowl of cereal.

-

“The sister and the police lady become a couple, right?” Rogers demanded. “ _Right?”_ Barnes just smiled smugly and shrugged dramatically. Rogers huffed in frustration. “This is the worst sort of queerbaiting if they don’t. What the fu-"

“-Why don’t we keep watching and you can find out?”

Rogers let out a displeased growl and nodded. Barnes threw a Twizzler at him.

-

They were three episodes into _Wynonna Earp_ and Barnes had fallen asleep slumped in the corner of the couch. During a commercial break, Rogers carefully got up and put their bowls in the sink and pulled two of his softest blankets from his linen closet. He tossed one aside and carefully spread the other over Barnes, who shifted in his sleep and gave a little sigh before relaxing again.

Rogers was so far gone that he couldn’t lie to himself anymore. He wanted Barnes. Bad.

He wanted Barnes yelling at him over stupid things like police bureaucracy and and the line at Whole Foods and the ways that humans are more like Klingons than Vulcans. He wanted to fall asleep on the couch with him, make him breakfast, call him during a bad day, or even during a good one.

They used to be all of that, they used to _have_ all of that, when they were best friends. Maybe they could again? Maybe they could have even more one day?

In the meantime, Rogers sat himself back onto the sofa and threw the other blanket over his lap, clicked off the lamp, and enjoyed cheesy sci-fi shenanigans until he drifted into sleep himself.

-

He woke up a little bit later, with the sky still dark outside and his blanket snuggled all around him. Barnes was awake, watching tv. He gave Rogers a small smile, and Rogers gave one back before rolling onto his side and shoving his feet into Barnes’s lap. Barnes pet his calf and Rogers fell back asleep thinking that if he could purr like a cat, he would have.

-

When Rogers next woke, the first hint of a glowing dawn had appeared in the dark sky. He and Barnes were now tangled together, and he was unsure of where he ended and Barnes began. He would have been content to stay that way but nature was calling and his stomach was rumbling, so he gently disentangled himself from Barnes. The other man groaned and shifted, stretching out on the full length of the couch.

Rogers tended to himself and went into the kitchen to fix breakfast. His body felt a little sick from all the sugar they’d eaten last night, so he felt that a nice, hearty breakfast was in order.

As quietly as he could, Rogers put the coffee pot to work and cracked all the eggs he’d gotten for a couple of decent-sized omelettes. He popped a few slices of bread into the toaster, cut the apples and tossed them in some vanilla yogurt, and fried up the ham.

There was movement from the sofa, and Barnes’ ruffled head poked over the back of the couch to look at Rogers in the kitchen.

“Izzat... _real_ _food_?”

Rogers smirked. “As far as I know.”

Barnes scrambled from the sofa and sat himself onto one of the stools at the island where Rogers was working. Rogers wordlessly set a mug of coffee in front of the detective.

“You’re a damn saint, Rogers, and fuck anyone that says otherwise.”

“I’m pretty sure _you’ve_ said otherwise, Barnes. A lot.”

“Well, fuck me, too,” he said, and took a sip of coffee. He let out an obscene moan and nodded in appreciation. “Oh, you got the good stuff.”

“Hah. It’s just the the grocery store’s house brand. What kinda sludge they got you drinking down at the precinct?”

Barnes looked at him from overtop his mug. “Stuff I’m not sure is even fit for human consumption. _This_ tastes like magic.”

Rogers laughed. “Well, I’m glad your food and beverage standards are so low, cuz I’m about to blow your mind with these omelettes.”

“I’m so ready, you don’t even know.”

-

They ate at the island, practically inhaling the food and multiple cups of coffee each. After their plates were clean, Barnes groaned happily.

“I haven’t eaten that good since I don’t know when.”

“Still can’t cook for yourself?” Rogers teased.

“Hey, I make a mean grilled cheese. But yeah, there’s a reason I have Peking Bistro on my favorites list.”

“Oh man, I love that place.”

“Right? So good. Hey, where’d you learn to cook like this, anyhow? Last I knew you could barely make ramen.”

Rogers’ stomach dropped. “Uhm. Peggy taught me.”

Barnes stiffened next to him. “And how is the Agent Extraordinaire? You two were going strong for a while there, but that was a coupla years ago.”

Rogers took a slow breath before answering. It was still a sore subject with him, always would be. “Dunno. She went back to MI-6 about a year back. Haven’t really talked to her since.”

“I’m sorry, man.” Barnes set a hand on Rogers’ shoulder and squeezed a little. “I know she was it for you.”

“Nah,” he brushed off, and got up to clear the dishes. “The task force was only ever a temporary thing. I knew that going in.”

“Yeah, but still. I wish I’da known. I woulda…” a strange look crossed over Barnes’ face, and he stopped.

“Woulda what?”

“I just… I woulda been there for you, you know? That shit’s heavy.”

Rogers shrugged. “That’s okay, I had Wilson, and the guys.”

“Yeah but it’s not the same,” Barnes snapped. “It’s not like how it was with us.”

Rogers smiled, sad and rueful. “No it’s not. Nothing in the world is like that.”

There was a long moment of silence before Barnes spoke.

“Look, I’m sure you had your reasons, but you never told me. Why’d you do it? I just wanna know.”

Rogers’ heart stilled. Surely he couldn’t be hearing right?

“Why...why’d _I_ do it? Barnes, _you’re_ the one who stopped talking to _me._ ”

“Are you for real right now? I get stationed up in the Bronx for specialized training for what, half a year, and it takes all of two weeks for you to ignore my calls and send me a text that said ‘Steve’s not here, stop calling,’ and you say that it’s _my_ fault? Listen, I know six months is long when you’re young but damn, Rogers, I was comin’ back the whole time! But then you wanted nothin’ to do with me.”

“What are you even _talking about?_  I never sent a text like that!” Rogers could hear his voice rising. “ _You’re_ the one who told me to get lost with a ‘leave me alone’ text and then you blocked my number’!”

“What the fuck, no I didn’t!”

“ _You’re_ the one who blew _me_ off! I never, ever would have done that to you! I fucking _loved_ you!”

Rogers regretted it as soon a he said it. Barnes’ eyes went wide and his mouth gaped. He was well and truly shocked.

“You...you what?”

 _Well why the hell not_ , Rogers figured. It’s already out now, anyway. “Yeah, I loved you. Was _in love_ with you, and you broke my fucking heart, Barnes. I didn’t need anything more from you than friendship and you couldn’t even be bothered with that.”

There was another long silence, and Barnes’ brow was furrowed like he was trying to puzzle something out. But something in Roger’s brain clicked first and his blood slowed.

“Oh fuck. I got a new phone while you were in the Bronx. Dropped my old one into a sewer grate on accident. I decided to switch providers and got a new one and I had your number memorized and when I tried calling you you didn’t want nothin’ to do with me. But I had the right number, right? Been the same since you first got a phone. 325-9703.”

Barnes looked pained. “Two fives. _Two fives,_ goddammit. My number’s always been _five_ -seven-oh-three. And you really are a fuckin’ meathead.”

“I am so sorry, I-”

“How could you not know that I loved you too? I was so obvious about it, I mean, real-”

Rogers cut him off with a kiss.

-

Electricity flooded Rogers’ whole body, and time stopped. Kissing Barnes wasn’t just amazing, or breathtaking (though it was), it was life-changing. It felt like a big piece of himself slid into place, and his world finally made sense.

The kiss didn’t last very long, and they pulled away. Rogers was breathing hard, and looked at Barnes. He was also panting, eyes half-lidded and staring at Rogers’ mouth.

“That was,” Rogers began.

“Yeah,” Barnes agreed.

Barnes pulled him in for another kiss, slowly bringing their lips together. The slide of them against each other, the rasp of Barnes’ stubble against Rogers’ beard, the little sigh that one of them let out, was all sheer perfection.

They could’ve kissed like that for hours, for minutes, for eternity, in that early-morning light. All Rogers knew was that he never wanted to let it go, but he needed to tell Barnes something, he needed him to know-

“I never stopped. Loving you, I mean,” he said against Barnes' lips. Barnes just smiled and said, “Me neither,” and then they were kissing heatedly, each pulling the other close, but it wasn’t close enough.

Finally kissing the love of his life after seventeen, eighteen years of pining for him was doing some very interesting things to Rogers. Some parts of him that had known nothing but anger and soreness were soothed, and parts of him he’d long thought dormant or wilted and turned to dust were breathing with new life. His soul felt like it was vibrating in technicolor after so long in shades of ashy greys. All the cracks and crevices inside of him were filling up with molten gold and his whole body felt like it was glimmering.

Rogers pulled Barnes closer still, pulling his hair out of the sloppy bun and running one hand through it while wrapping the other arm around his waist to hold him close. Barnes in turn had rested both his hands on Rogers’ hips and slid them to the very tops of the curve of Rogers’ ass and squeezed and pulled him closer.

“Calendar never does you justice,” Barnes whispered.

Rogers pulled away to look at him, eyes full of amusement. “You bought the FDNY calendars?”

Barnes grinned at him. “Every year since they put you in ‘em. July never looked so good, _Captain America_.”

Rogers groaned. “They’re so _cheesy!_ ”

“Well,” Barnes said in between kisses down the side of Rogers’ neck, “We’ve established that I like cheesy,” and then nipped at a spot close to his throat. Rogers moaned and his hips surged forward on their own and ground his cock against Barnes’, which was apparently also hard. The sergeant let out a sharp inhale of surprise.

“I want you,” Rogers said in a gravelly voice. “I want you so damn bad, you got no idea.”

Barnes grinned against Rogers’ skin. “I think I got some idea, pal,” and then he sank to his knees right there. He pushed Rogers’ shirt up a few inches, and kissed along the strip of skin that was exposed from one side to the other, pausing to bite into the abs along his way. He then pulled the sweats just a couple inches lower and sucked matching love bites into the skin of both lines of his Adonis belt. Rogers was trembling and panting at this point, and Barnes kissed a soothing apology right under his navel before pulling the tented sweatpants down to Rogers’ ankles.

Barnes’ eyes went wide. “God bless America,” he said seriously.

Rogers barked out a laugh while he stepped out of the sweats. He looked down at Barnes, who was on his knees and staring at his cock hungrily, and said with nothing but affection, “You’re the literal worst.”

Barnes smiled up at him happily and then leaned in and licked him root to tip. Rogers gasped and then felt all of the air in his lungs get punched out when Barnes swallowed his whole shaft down.

“What the fuuu-” he stuttered, watching Barnes’ head bob up and down. “How are you so good at that?” Barnes just winked up at him and kept pace. He started swirling his tongue on the upstroke and Rogers thought his heart might explode from how overwhelmingly good it felt to have Barnes’ mouth on him. Rogers’ fists were clenched at his sides, and Barnes took one of his wrists and redirected the hand to the top of his head.

Rogers furrowed his brow in question and Barnes just nodded before fucking _deepthroating_ his cock and he grabbed Barnes’ hair on reflex. Barnes moaned around him and Rogers was already getting close. It had been so long since he’d had any sexual action and this was _Barnes_ who was blowing him and Rogers felt like if this was a dream, he never wanted to wake up.

Barnes slid his hands up the backs of Rogers’ thighs and gripped him on the ass for leverage as he deepthroated his dick again, this time swallowing around the head.

“Ah, fuck!” Rogers gasped. “Fuck _yes,_ Bucky, ohmygod…”

Barnes moaned and swallowed around him again while swirling his tongue and Rogers was done for. He came with a shout and a hard grip in Barnes’ hair. Barnes swallowed his load right down, coaxing out as much as he could with his tongue. When Rogers had finished, Barnes pulled back and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He then leaned in to lick the last little drop of come from Rogers’ slit and kissed the head of his cock affectionately.

Rogers stood there in a daze, idly petting Barnes’ hair for a moment. He looked down at the sergeant, and saw that the man was leaning into his touch with his eyes closed and a content little smile on his face. _Interesting._ Rogers filed that information away for later and took a deep, steadying breath. Barnes opened his eyes and kissed one of the bruises he’d left on Rogers’ hips and then stood up.

“Can I borrow your shower?” he asked.

Rogers was still in a blissful daze but Barnes was not even close to sated. If anything, his eyes held more heat than before, and his expression sent a new lurch of desire through Rogers’ stomach and zinging up his spine.

“Uh, sure.”

Barnes wrapped his arms around Rogers and pulled him close, kissing his neck and breathing him in. His hips moved in aborted little movements against Rogers and the fireman could feel the wet spot that had appeared on the front of Barnes’ tented sweats.

“Good, because my mouth might taste like coffee and apples, and I guess now jizz, but the rest’a me probably tastes like old sweat and stale cigarettes.”

“Delicious,” Rogers teased. “Yeah, it’s down the hall, second door on the right. Feel free to use whatever you need, there’s spare toothbrushes under the sink.”

Barnes leaned in and gave him quick peck on the lips. He sauntered off down the hall, leaving Rogers to stare, pantsless and smiling big.

-

While Barnes was showering, Steve pulled his pants back on and started tidying the living room and kitchen. It was weird how Barnes’ presence seemed to calm and temper him, and now that the other man had gone, the guilt that had been kept at bay since the bodega came creeping back.

Who was he to deserve this happiness? Was the universe testing him, to send him _exactly_ what he’s wanted for so long after so many civilians died on his watch? He was a disgrace, he was-

“Hey,” said Barnes. He had come in on silent feet, and had one of Rogers’ navy blue towels wrapped around his waist. He was muscular and scarred, and there was the smallest little pooch on his belly and damn if Rogers didn’t fucking _love_ that and want to sink his teeth right in and worship it. He looked back up at Barnes’ face, whose eyes were crinkling in joy above a warm smile. The smile started to fade after a moment, though. “What’s wrong?”

Rogers’ mouth was dry. “Nothin’.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Rogers, I know you too damn well for that. Go on, what’s eatin’ you?”

Rogers looked down and swallowed. “I’m sorry. I...I can’t do this.”

“What?” Barnes demanded. He stepped into Rogers’ space. “Look at me. If you’re doing this to me, you better look me in the _goddamn eye_ when you do it. _Why?_ ”

Rogers rose to the challenge and looked up at the steely anger in Barnes’ face. In the pale sunshine his eyes were a light teal green and they were so, so beautiful.

“I don’t deserve...this. Don’t deserve you.”

“What in the actual fuck are you talkin’ about?”

Rogers’ face burned in shame. “My last shift...was bad. Real bad. The worst I’ve ever had, I think. People died, so many...so many civilians died and it’s my fault. I should’ve made a better call, done things different-”

“Oh my god, I forgot about your motherfucking _martyr complex_.”

“What?” Rogers snapped angrily. “You got no idea-”

“No, I do,” Barnes interrupted again. “I really, really do. See, the thing with you, is that you don’t know how to take a hit. Not _really_. You take ‘em but it never sits right with you and it eats away until there’s nothin’ left. Well I hate to break it to you, but you’re _not invincible_. Much as you like to think so. So what, you went out there and did your best, right?”

“Well yeah, but-”

“And given the information you had at the time, you made what you felt, in your expert opinion, to be the right call?”

“Well, yes, but-”

“And if you were given the very same set of circumstances and the very same information again, would you make that same call?”

Rogers gut rolled. He wanted to deny it, but Barnes would see right past him. He whispered, “Yes.”

“Then you did your best. And it didn’t work out. And that really sucks, I mean it’s the fuckin’ worst. Trust me, I’m right there with you. But you gotta remember that you can’t be a perfect fireman. There’s no such thing. So stop trying to do that. Stop trying to be a perfect fireman and just remember to be a good man.”

Rogers just stared at him. “I’m not sure I know how to do that.”

“If Wilson had made the call, what would you say?”

Rogers stewed for a bit, not wanting to admit anything. Eventually he said, “Exactly what you told me.”

Barnes raised his eyebrows and nodded once. “Well alright then. Not a perfect fireman, but a good man. Can you do that for me?”

Rogers looked at Barnes, who was so full of determination and understanding. How had Rogers gone so long without having him close, talking sense into him? How had he forgotten how much more sense the world made when Barnes was knocking him upside the head? The guilt and shame didn’t disappear, but it did dissipate and fade into the background. Rogers pulled Barnes close and buried his face in the other man’s neck.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Barnes stroked the back of his neck and held him for long minutes until Rogers felt like he was whole enough to stand up straight again. When he did, Barnes was looking at him with a calculating stare.

“You try to quit me for such a dumbass reason again, Rogers, I swear to god, I know how to commit the perfect murder.”

Rogers had to laugh at that. “I’m sure you do.”

Barnes took his hand and stepped backwards, the look in his eyes turning heated once more. “Now come on, you’ve made me wait long enough.”

-

Rogers gently pushed Barnes backwards onto the rumpled bed, and stripped himself of his clothes. He went to climb on top of Barnes when the other man whispered, “Hang on. Lemme just...lemme just look at you a minute."

Rogers’ default for scrutiny was still to cover himself, but if Barnes’ stare and the way he licked his lips were any indication, Rogers would guess that the detective was ‘thirsty as fuck,’ as Parker would say. Instead of curling in on himself, he stood up straighter and stared down at Barnes with equal hunger.

“Okay,” Barnes nodded, “C’mere now.”

Rogers obeyed and climbed onto the bed, hovering over Barnes and reaching down to undo the towel. When the detective was fully revealed to him, Rogers sighed in satisfaction and appreciation. He leaned down to kiss Barnes’ chest, right above his heart. He moved down, placing kisses on his sternum and in between the abs, his hands stroking Barnes’ sides and hips all the while.

“So damn beautiful,” he breathed against the warm skin, “So perfect, wanna...oh, god...every inch of you…”

Barnes gasped shakily and then moaned when Rogers finally reached that glorious pooch and sank his teeth into it. He gave Barnes purple love bites on either side to echo his own, and when he was done Barnes was writhing and breathing hard. A broken _please_ left his lips.

“Please what?” Rogers asked.

Barnes spread his legs wantonly, and stared down at him. “More.”

Rogers moved up Barnes’ body, kissing him deep on the mouth, nipping at his bottom lip while he reached into his nightstand and pulled out a bottle of lube and a condom. He tossed them onto the bed and then lowered himself fully onto Barnes, who wrapped his legs around Rogers. They rutted together for a minute, kissing hungrily and swallowing each others’ moans before Rogers pulled back and ordered, “On your knees.”

Barnes inhaled sharply and stared up at Rogers, pupils fully dilated. He nodded and Rogers sat back so the other man could adjust his position. Once Barnes was on his knees, Rogers spread his ass apart and looked at the puckered flesh just waiting for him.

“ _Fuck,_ ” he breathed, and dove right in.

He licked a featherlight circle around the ring and Barnes gasped and moaned. He did it again, the other way around. Then he flicked his tongue up and down, the tip catching lightly on the rim, increasing the pressure ever so slightly until Barnes was letting out one long moan. Rogers kept this up for a little bit and then eased the tip of his tongue into Barne’s hole, lapping at the tight muscle. It fluttered around his tongue and Barnes let out some very colorful curses.

Rogers fumbled around for the lube, which unfortunately wasn’t flavored. He flicked open the cap, coated his fingers and gave a final few laps at Barnes’ rim before asking, “You want more?”

“Oh god yes, please, I need- ohhhh…”

He was cut off as Rogers pumped his index finger slowly into him, letting the muscle relax around it before starting a slow rhythm. When Barnes was fucking himself back onto it and asking for more again, Rogers obliged him.

Two fingers slid tantalizingly in and out, and Rogers stretched them apart as gently as he could. Barnes’ back tensed and Rogers stroked his hand down it soothingly, whispering encouragements. Barnes’ cock was heavy between his legs but looked in danger of deflating slightly from the stretch so Rogers reached up and pumped it a few times. Barnes moaned deliciously, and Rogers kept at it until Barnes asked for more yet again.

He stretched Barnes with the three fingers and used them to brush little teasing strokes across his prostate until the man was shaking and a thin sheen of sweat had broken out along his skin.

“Please,” Barnes begged. “Please fuck me, I need you…”

And who was Rogers to deny a request like that?

He pulled his fingers out, wiped them on the towel, and slid the condom over his shaft.

“You ready?”

“Been ready since the day we met, pal,” Barnes laughed.

Rogers smiled and stroked Barnes’ hip as he lined himself up.

-

Barnes hadn’t been fucked in _forever._ And there, on his hands and knees, as Rogers pushed into him, his whole body shuddered and relaxed. His entire being breathed out in relief, a singular _yesss_ whispered among all his cells.

There was barely any sting with the stretch, and honestly Barnes didn’t even mind the little there was because it was _Rogers_ pushing into him, and wasn’t that just _wild?_

Rogers seated himself fully and held still, giving Barnes time to adjust. He didn’t need very long, and after a few seconds he wiggled his hips and pushed back against Rogers in a silent _more, please._

Rogers of course indulged him and rolled his pelvis back and the delicious drag left Barnes breathless. His stomach did fluttery and swooshing things when his brain reminded him that this was _Steven Grant Rogers!_ fucking him.

He’d heard about how much better sex was when you love the person you’re with, but Barnes had never really put much stock into that. Sure, he’d liked the people he’d fucked before, but with Rogers it was magnified a hundredfold. His whole body felt like a livewire and it was so much more intense than he’d ever believed possible.

Rogers slowly thrust back into him, and the breath that had been caught in his throat let itself out in a low moan. Behind him he heard Rogers sigh a _fuck, yes_ and then he gripped Barnes’ hips tighter. Rogers rocked into him slowly, gently, and Barnes felt it in every centimeter of his body, from the tips of his fingers to the soles of his feet.

Rogers settled into a steady rhythm, and Barnes felt like his whole body was humming on a new frequency - one that matched Rogers perfectly. The feeling of firey skin and raging hearts was all-encompassing, and Barnes easily let himself drown in the sensation of Rogers thrusting into him.

The bliss was both immediate and slow-building. Sticky electricity crackled along his spine and over his skin, and the whole world faded away until there was nothing but satisfying friction and the harsh grip on his hips. Rogers widened his knees just a little bit and the angle of penetration got just a little sweeter and Barnes gasped from the surge of pleasure.

“Oh, fuck, Stevie, please don’t stop,” he moaned breathily. He felt two hands hook themselves around his shoulders and he was hauled back against Rogers’ chest, held close.

“Say it again,” Rogers growled in his ear. His pace sped up and Barnes was beyond words for a moment, but Rogers twined a hand up the back of Barnes’ neck into his hair, gripped firmly, and demanded once more.

“Say my name.”

“Steve-” Barnes gasped as Rogers thrusts hit a spot that made his whole body _sing_ , “Stevie, right there! God, please, _right there…_ ”

The hand in his hair tilted his head backwards so Steve could speak directly into his ear. “That’s right, Bucky, just you and me now.” Barnes’ whole body gave a full shudder at hearing his old nickname again said in such a sex-broken voice. It drove him crazy in the best way.

“Steve,” he moaned, “You feel so - ah! - good,”

Whatever composure there had been had evaporated with the emergence of their names, and Steve was pounding into him relentlessly. Bucky had never been fucked so completely or so deep; not just physically but emotionally, and it was _amazing._ He reached back a hand to rest on the nape of Steve’s neck, and used the other to grab at his hip. He moaned again and Steve used the hand in his hair to adjust the angle of his head once more until they were both turned to look each other in the face and Steve kissed him.

“So good for me,” Steve rumbled against his lips, “Taking my cock so beautiful, Buck. Like it was meant for you.”

Bucky let out a groan at that because it sure felt that way to him, too. He took his hand off of Steve’s hip and reached for his own neglected cock and as soon as he stroked himself he felt his hole flutter around Steve’s shaft.

Steve let out a heavy curse and used his grip in Bucky’s hair to gently push the other man forward until Bucky’s back arched and his face was pressed into the mattress. Steve kneed Bucky’s legs apart even further and pummeled into him, one hand still firmly gripped in his hair and the other leaving fingerprint bruises on his lower abdomen.

Bucky had never felt more thoroughly used or loved. It was a strange combination and he knew deep down into his bones that he’d never get enough of this, never get enough of Steve Rogers.

Bucky felt pleasure pooling deep in his gut, felt the insistent, harsh slide of Steve’s cock in and out of him hitting spots so deep and delicious that he saw stars. He knew somewhere in the back of his mind that he was choking out sobs of pleasure, body slick with sweat and trembling with the buildup of his orgasm.

“You gonna come for me, Bucky?” Steve asked him. Bucky nodded into the sheets and pumped his fist frantically around his cock. He was so, so close…

Steve shifted to lean in closer to Bucky and whispered a rough, _“Good boy,”_ and that was it, Bucky’s whole body lit up with the glittering light of a hundred thousand diamonds and he splashed his release all across the towel underneath them.

He heard Steve gasp and felt a couple more hard thrusts until they both collapsed bonelessly, Steve on top of Bucky. After a few moments Steve pulled out and rolled off of him, and tied the condom and tossed it into the trashcan next to the bed. Bucky rolled over onto his back and Steve pulled the towel out from underneath him and used it to wipe the mess off of Bucky and tossed it aside. Bucky curled into Steve then, and they tangled themselves together, each stroking whatever skin they could get their hands on and exchanging lazy kisses.

“That was…” Bucky began.

“Yeah,” Steve agreed and kissed him. “We gotta keep doing that.”

“Oh, for sure,” Bucky agreed, and kissed Steve softly. He looked back up at the love of his life and said quietly, “You deserve this, you know? You _do._ And it’s not a fucking happily ever after. We’re gonna have to fight for it everyday, and it’s gonna be hard. But I’m willing to do it if you are.”

Steve gave him a brilliant smile. “Shit, Barnes, there’s no one else I’d rather have by my side in a fight. I’ve always been all-in with you, before I even understood what it meant. Think it’s my default setting.”

“Sap,” Bucky said fondly.

“You love it.” Steve nuzzled his neck and Bucky laughed at the beard tickling his skin.

“Yeah, I do,” he agreed, and kissed Steve again.

They fell asleep tangled together, until the pale sunshine of early morning turned into golden afternoon light.

\---

They spent the rest of the day cozied up in bed, alternating between watching SyFy and fucking. This did not change the fact that Steve still didn’t have any food, so late in the evening they decided to order Peking Bistro. Bucky put the call on speakerphone and it rang a couple of times before a familiar and accented voice answered.

“ _Hello, Peking Bistro.”_

“Ni hao, Mrs. Xian,” Bucky said.

“ _Oh, ni hao, Sergeant Barnes! You want delivery today or takeout?”_

“Delivery please, but to somewhere different this time.” He gave her the address and heard her hum in acknowledgement.

“ _Okay, you want moo goo gai pan or shrimp-vegetable lo mein for dinner?”_

“Uh, lo mein, I think. Extra mushrooms, you know how I like it.”

_“Of course, dear. And what does the fireman want, Singapore mei fun or sesame chicken?”_

Bucky stuttered and Steve raised his eyebrows. “Uh...what? Why would you-”

“ _Don’t you try to wooly my eyes, Sergeant, I know all my regulars’ addresses. So what will it be?”_

Steve had to fight back a laugh. Mrs. Xian sure was a shrewd lady. “Hello, Mrs. Xian,” Steve greeted. “I’ll have the mei fun, please.”

 _“Hello dear! Okay, shrimp lo mein, extra mushrooms, Singapore mei fun, two orders crab rangoon, four egg rolls, sugar donuts, a Sprite and a lemonade. And you make cute couple, I’ll throw in dumplings. Because_ you _two are dumplings, ha!”_ Steve and Bucky shared at each other in shock.  _“Forty-five minutes, I’ll tell Li to get yours out first and I’ll run Sergeant’s card. Okay?”_

“Thank you Mrs. Xian, I owe you a kiss the next time I see you,” Bucky said with a grin.

_“Oh, stop! You go kiss your new boyfriend and you both kiss me when you come in for a date. Okay?”_

Steve said magnanimously, “Well, you drive a pretty hard bargain, but I think we can manage.” 

They heard a cackle over the line and then, _“See you later my dumplings! Bye-bye now!”_

“Bye, Mrs. Xian,” they chorused, and Bucky ended the call.

They stared at each other for a moment and then burst into profound, echoing laughter. Each time they started to come down they’d set each other off again, and eventually they were clutching their stomachs and wiping tears from their eyes and it was glorious.

\---

The next day they showered and dressed and stopped by Bucky’s apartment so he could wear actual clothes out and about instead of sweats stained with precome.

They walked in the park for a while, got burritos from what happend to be a favorite food truck of them both, and went grocery shopping. It was simple and normal and perfect.

\---

The next morning both of them returned to work. Steve felt much better about himself and his role and duty; not just as a fireman and captain, but as a person. He had Bucky to thank for that.

Bucky, for his part, had a very good morning of chasing leads and putting puzzle pieces of information together. In the afternoon mail he received a package in the form of a very large, very fat envelope, addressed to him with no return. It raised his hackles but he tore into it very carefully and pulled out a bag of house brand coffee from the grocery store. The sticky note on it read simply, _Some magic for your mornings._

Bucky knew his smile was huge, and he didn’t even care when Romanoff teased him for it.

\---

The scene was chaos. Wet charcoal and soot marred the streets and sidewalks; the corner café still belched smoke and snowed fat flakes of ash down on them. Bystanders craned for glimpses of the action, paramedics patched civilians and firefighters alike, and Sergeant Detective Barnes was trying very hard to maintain professionalism.  

“Look,” the deep, annoyed voice spoke to Barnes while he scrubbed a hand over his face. “We still got jurisdiction here. My team isn’t finished yet. Let my guys get their jobs done and _then_ you can investigate, okay? I’m not tryna hassle you,” Fire Captain Rogers said. Then added, with a crooked grin, “Anymore.”

Bucky had to fight very hard to keep his scowl from turning into a smile. He sighed a little, and looked at his stupidly gorgeous boyfriend.

“Yeah, okay. Doing anything right now would only interrupt Jones’s score, so might as well let him have it.”

Steve looked over to the police line where sure enough, Jones was talking to a dark-skinned girl with purple hair. Steve grinned at Bucky for real now. “That’s very generous of you.”

“I aim to please.”

A glint of mischief and desire burned in Steve’s bright blue eyes, and he said quietly, “Don’t I know it.”

Bucky felt himself blushing and cleared his throat. “ANYWAY, CAPTAIN,” he started, looking to see if anyone could overhear them. They couldn’t, and Steve was full-on laughing now. Bucky rolled his eyes. “Anyway, for real, what are we doing about dinner? You mentioned something about making pasta this morning?”

“Yeah, but I don’t think I’m in the mood to cook anymore.”

“Okay, well, there’s always the old fallback.”

“You know, I think it’s really sweet of Mrs. Xian to maintain that table for our exclusive use. I like having a table that’s _ours_ , you know?”

“Yeah, I know. I also know that even though she’s sweet on us both, she’s really only trying to get us to have her cater our Big Fat Gay Wedding, if we ever had one.”

“I mean, is there even another option?”

“I don’t think so, pal. We’re in too deep.”

Steve laughed again, and Lieutenant Wilson motioned and Steve nodded in acknowledgement. “Alright, we’re finishing up. I wish I could kiss you. See you at home?”

Bucky fought down another blush. “Yeah, see you at home.”

Then Steve went and _winked_ at him and he lost the battle.

\---

“Hurry up, we’re going to be late!” Bucky hollered down the hallway.

“Not my fault I can’t wear my dress uniform to the Policeman’s Ball. When was the last time _you_ tied a bow tie?”

“Right now, apparently,” Bucky said, and went to find his fiance. He turned the corner into their bathroom and his breath caught in his throat. Steve was in a perfectly-tailored formal suit, black and white and just a hair’s breadth shy of being a tuxedo. He looked enchanting. “Hey,” he breathed out. “You look... _wow.”_

“Yeah?” Steve looked at him in the mirror. “Not too much like a penguin suit?”

“No. C’mere.”

Steve turned around and Bucky gripped his lapels and gave him a deep, intense kiss.

“You sure you wanna go out tonight? I could think of much better ways to spend our evening,” Steve said.

“Tempting, although all I want to do right now is show off my future trophy husband.”

Steve’s cheeks pinked. “Well, alright then.”

Bucky tied the bow tie with quick, deft fingers, and ten minutes later they were in a cab on the way to the venue.

-

The event was schmancy (like usual), and full of politicking (like usual). Bucky didn’t even mind this year, which was the first time he’d actually brought a date. The previous two years Steve had been on shift for the annual ball, and Bucky was itching to show him off to the brass. Maybe he’d even get to make waves for being a detective sergeant who was engaged to not only a man, but a _firefighter._

Bucky would pay cash money to see that.

As it was, the crusty old white guys in charge of everything barely batted an eye at them. It was frankly disappointing, although it could be counted towards steps in the right direction of social progression and all that. Whatever, it wasn’t nearly as fun.

They’d danced, or sort-of danced because Steve was _terrible_ and they definitely needed lessons before their wedding. They’d schmoozed, they’d drank, they’d secretly gotten each other so riled up it was a miracle that they hadn’t taken to the bathroom to fuck yet.

All in all, a pretty good evening, by Bucky’s standards. Some of his detectives, however, weren’t so lucky.

Jones and Morita looked miserable the whole evening, but it was no wonder with the case they’d been working that week. It involved some pretty gnarly human trafficking and had only been taken over by the FBI that afternoon. Normally there would be a lot of bitter feelings about that, but instead there was just relief that the case was off of their docket.

“Hey, Sarge,” Jones said as he and Morita approached him. Steve was off somewhere with Romanoff and Barton and Bucky was eating some canapes and willing his half-erection to go down. One look at their faces did the trick.

“Jones. Morita. Having a good evening?”

Jones shrugged. Morita just said, “I guess."

Bucky took a deep breath and put on his Sergeant Voice. “Look, fellas, I know it’s rough. It doesn’t make you any less of a man to be affected by what you’ve seen this week. In fact, if you weren’t, I’d send you in for socio- and psychopath testing. Caring about them makes you a better person and a better cop, trust me.”

Jones and Morita looked a little appeased, but no less exhausted. Bucky heard Steve’s booming laugh from where Barton had told him a joke. It was Steve’s turn to respond, and he pulled out a joke that Bucky himself had taught him. He felt the corners of his mouth turn up in a smile.

“How do you do it?” Jones suddenly asked. “How do you see shit like that, day after day, and then go home and be able to sleep at night?”

Bucky considered this a moment, and answered honestly.

“Sometimes you don’t. Sometimes it eats at you and you find yourself awake at 2am with flashbacks to crime scenes. It happens, and we got counselors for that. I’m gonna make you both appointments tomorrow, and don’t argue with me.”

Jones and Morita both closed their mouths. Bucky continued.

“Mostly, you just gotta find the good in the world, you know? For every shitty thing we see or hear or hopefully stop, you gotta go out and appreciate the good stuff. Find all the happiness out there, let it remind you that there’s good in the world and we’re protecting it. We take that burden so others don’t have to. Find something good and pure in your life and hold onto it with all you have. Find your reason. Otherwise you’ll burn out. Hold onto all the good things, fellas. It’s the only way to survive.”

They considered this for a moment.

“What’s your thing, Sarge? How do you survive?” Morita asked.

Bucky smiled. “Me? I got a fella that makes me laugh.”

**Author's Note:**

> Whew, hope you enjoyed that ride! <3
> 
> Come [Tumble](https://duelingnebulas.tumblr.com/) with me!


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